Why Not
by Valerie E. Mackin
Summary: Murphy and Connor disagree. Surprise. M for language only, takes place in the same universe as my other Boondock Stories; can be read alone.


"It'll be perfect! Like Charlie Bronson!"

Murphy shook his head again, still unconvinced. "No fuckin' way, man! Not after that shit at th' Prudential! This plan o' yers is too fucked up this time! I ain't goin' on a suicide run!"

Connor sighed and looked away from his brother. When was Murphy ever going to see the creativity, the elegance? "It always works out fer us in th' end, Murph! Why can't ye just show some positivity fer once? Just believe, man!"

Murphy suddenly felt very tired, as if they'd been discussing this for weeks instead of just hours. He slumped against the back of his chair. "Ye don't get it, Con…This ain't one o' yer stupid movies. Ye ain't immortal, like all that Highlander 'There can be only one' shit!' One of these days, it's gonna be one thing too many goin' wrong, and where ya gonna be then? Hell, where'm I gonna be then? Like that time I nearly died 'cause of one o'yer shtupid plans!" He let out a long breath and dropped his forehead into one of his hands before running his fingers back through his hair and looking back up at Connor.

"One of these days, one o' yer damn fool plans is gonna get us out fer good, jus' like Da."

Connor looked away from his brother and was silent for several minutes. Murphy thought of several things he could say in that time, but he didn't think he'd be able to get his point across any more clearly than the comment about their father. Instead, he stared intently at Connor, waiting for the cinephile to come up with something else.

Or maybe just deck him.

"Ye know, Murph, ye could help wit' th' plannin' stead o'just shootin' me ideas down."

Murphy laughed, relieved that Connor wasn't angry. It had been a low blow, mentioning their father like that, but it seemed like the only way to get Connor attention sometimes. Hell, it was good to remind himself that they weren't immortal. This…"job" of theirs could go to his head sometimes.

"I don't have a plan…per se…But what if we jus' toned yers down a bit?" Murphy hesitated, then winced and admitted, "It ain't all bad, ye know…I jus'…don't like relyin' on that shtupid rope o'yers."

"And when has that rope ever let us down?" Connor burst out, livid at the offense against his precious. "Never, dat's when! Every time we've planned it or jus had it along, it's helped out somehow! Yer jus' fuckin' negative, that's what! Ye wouldn' know a good plan if I shoved it up yer ass wit' me fist!"

….

Romeo shut the door behind him and glanced around the room, looking for a place to put down the sacks of beer he was carrying. The brothers were on opposite ends of the small space, clearly not talking, both sporting fresh bruises. Romeo shrugged and set a bag in front of each of them, taking his own and dropping into an empty seat.

"So," he started hesitantly, knowing any little thing could set them off at this point. "What's the…er…plan?"

Murphy was busy downing the first of many beers for the night, but Connor was more than willing to vent.

"We don't seem t' have a workin' plan, Rome…on account o' me brudder's delicate sensibilities over dere."

"So what if I don't like swingin' two hundred fuckin' feet in the air by what amounts to nuttin' more'n a bit o'string! Yer plan is too risky, ya dumb fuck, so shut it!"

Romeo listened to them bicker for a while, then decided to take a risk. Hell, that's what got him joined up with these assholes in the first place, right?

"Why not both?"

Silence.

Romeo glanced around, one eyebrow raised, to find both brothers staring at him incredulously. Finally, Connor broke the silence.

"What, are ye channeling the fuckin' El Paso girl now? Ye want soft and crunchy tacos fer dinner t'night, lass?"

"I just meant," Romeo interjected amid the brother's snickers, "That maybe you could each kind of do our own thing as long as it works out with what the other wants to do. You don't both have to do the same thing. Connor could use his rope and Murph could take the toned down side of the plan. I can go somewhere in the middle."

Murph snickered and leered at Romeo. "So, ya like being in the middle, do ye, Rome? With yer…_colorful… _people?"

Romeo shrugged. "Laugh all you want, but you two are just gonna end up with more bruises and no plan if you keep at it this way."

Connor opened a fresh beer and took a long pull before answering him. "It ain't that we don't value yer suggestions. It's only, we don't operate like dat. It jus' don't work well, ye see. The T'ree Musketeers and all dat shit. One fer all and all fer one and such." He paused and assessed Romeo for a moment. "Well, two and half Musketeers."

"Ha ha," Romeo muttered under his breath and the brothers broke down laughing again. "Fine. You ass hats come up with a plan. I'm goin' back out for some food. Let me know the plan when I get back"

Murphy watched the door close behind Romeo's retreating form and turned to Connor.

"Ye didn't have to say dat, man. He's more dan earned his place wit' us."

Connor grinned, wiping tears from his eyes. "I know, but if I got too sentimental and started callin' him one of us, he'd just start his blubberin' again."

"That still doesn't leave us with much of a plan."

Connor leveled a gaze at his brother. "If yer gonna be bringin' up th' departed of this here organization, then lemme ask ye dis, dear brudder: what would Roc think o' me plan?"

Murph was silent long enough for Connor to answer the question himself.

"Ye know what he'd say about me plan, Murph."

Murphy sighed resignedly and dropped his head, eyes closed. "Duke Fuckin' Wayne."

"Yer damn right, Duke Fuckin' Wayne! It don' matter how crazy or harebrained ye think me schemes are, Murph. Fact is, we don't have another one, and ye have to admit…at least it's got style!"

_And style does us one fuckin' bit o' good when dere's bullets involved_…But Murphy didn't say this out loud. Didn't matter, Connor as good as heard him from the expression on his face.

"Murph, it's fairly obvious the Good Lord thinks somethin' good abou' what we've been up to fer the last few years, or we wouldn't have made it through most of th' stuff we've done."

Murphy raised tired eyes to his brother. "I'm tired, Connor. It's been almost ten years now. I know we're doin' t'right thing, but people die all th' time doin' th' right thing. I just keep wonderin' if next time's gonna be our turn." It didn't even occur to Murphy to say his turn or Connor's turn; they were going together, or not at all. "And it don't seem t'get any better, no matter what we do out there. There's always more evil."

Connor stared hard at his brother for a moment, wondering if Murphy really had reached the end of his rope. He thought for a moment, then…Nope.

"Ye fuckin' woman, quit yer bellyachin'! We got a job to do, Murph! You stop t' think what it'd be like if we weren't doin' dis job? What if all the priests in the world quit preachin' 'cause it don't seem like anybody's listenin'? Or all dem teachers quit dere jobs cause dem kids ain't readin' nuthin'? Yer bitchin' ain't makin' anything easier, nor's it solvin' th' issue that ye still ain't satisfied with me plan!"

Murphy smoldered at Connor for a few moments before shrugging and giving in at last. "Alright, Charlie Bronson. We'll use yer stupid fuckin' rope and yer stupid fuckin' plan."

"Shades of Eastwood?" Connor asked Murph, holding his beer out towards his brother.

He laughed and knocked own bottle against Connor's. "Shades of Eastwood!"

_Author's note_: This one was fun to write, but was really hard. I suppose it could be because I'm trying to get that whole guys-hanging-out feel…without, you know, actually being a guy. I tried to get some outside opinions, but I got left hanging. A gold start to you if you can spot the Lord of the Rings reference.


End file.
